


Where we come from

by avaloncat555



Category: Shaman King (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Canon Universe, Character Study, Gen, for Lyserg-Marie, hope you like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 21:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17170142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avaloncat555/pseuds/avaloncat555
Summary: Lyserg and Yoh, two Elemental warriors. Where they come from and what shaped them.





	Where we come from

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Hope you like, and happy Christmas!

Morphine started out as poppy.

All things have  energy about them, a force of life present in all things. All things have their own way of thinking, no matter how strange, some semblance of reason and dream. All things have soul, a furyoku and spiritual energy existing  within them.  Then, she is almost nothing, a flower whose petals aren’t even particularly glamorous shade of red, which wastes away  before year is finished in unnamed, untended field. A spark of spirit, all that remains after. A whisper that soon fades, returns to Great Spirits so new souls could be formed from it.

Except sometimes they do not.  Instead, those sparks of spirit move and age, grow and learn, amass power and knowledge, join with others or consume them to develop, to grow like green stalks reaching for sunlight, learning to speak and listen, shaping themselves in new forms, new beings. Morphine doesn’t know what came first, things like her or stories, but she shapes herself, or better grows into, a pixie from tales that will soon grace books of stories and pictures read to children. With each decade she gives herself something more, wings of insects that flew near her seeking pollen, a petal pink she saw on flowers near her, to honor them once they wither, a skirt and braid and then pants and bun based on people that walk her fields.

She makes herself in girl for first Diethel that comes to her (though she and her family aren’t called that then, not yet) a girl who can see dead in alleys, see nature spirits flitting above her. She speaks to little spirit, names her after medicine girl crafts from poppies, with which she puts her own parents to eternal sleep, girl whom Morphine leads away from suspicious, angry villagers.

The field is long since gone, and cement lays over it.  No roots grow there, and soil is harsh and cold, and petals don’t fly in wind, but Morphine carries memory of it, the spirit of it, in herself and her shamans.

* * *

 

Children used to tease him for his hair.

It isn’t right word, too friendly and light and warm, but he goes red as Morphine at thought of admitting to being mocked, much less saying that he is being bullied. He used to like his hair, brilliant green of leaves in summer, green as his eyes, hair and eyes he inherited from his father, who inherited it from his mother, and so on back in centuries, to very first Diethel that picked up dowsing rod in middle of drought and called on spirits to find them water.

He says nothing, but Liam is aware of it. Parents have nose for such things, especially when they went through the same. It is something every shaman must go through, a hatred they will encounter from world blind and deaf to what they know, world that will judge them for talking to themselves, for their visions, for things flying around them, for strange colors of their eyes and hair.

Sometimes, he  goes to Lyserg, and speaks with him softly but strongly, giving him encouragement and comfort, saying that he understands it hurts, but that Lyserg should pay no attention to it, that those children are pitiable, because they can only derive joy from laughing at somebody for what they can’t change, what they shouldn’t change, for it makes them special and unique.

And sometimes, he tells him story.

‘’You know that some people can see spirits, but aren’t shaman, right?’’ He asks, and Lyserg nods, because he knows of, and later will meet, those that can see and speak to spirits but cannot bond with them, cannot perform miracles.

‘’Well, once, long and long ago, almost all people were like that, and spirits walked free among world. Like neighbors or friends, they spoke to humans, who didn’t yet fear them. Spirits didn’t harm humans, and humans didn’t destroy their homes.’’ He isn’t sure if he can believe in that, if any shaman can believe in that, but story is nice and sometimes they dream about it, all of them to whom dead and earth speak.

‘’And so, sometimes, they fell in love. Because love is stronger then anything, then even differences and confusion between spirits and mortals. Humans were enthralled by world of magic and mystery of spirits, and spirits were in love with such simple yet complicated world humans built.’’ That is true. Liam will never forget wonder he felt first time he made Oversoul with Morphine, when she showed him her power, and neither will he forget curiosity with which Morphine looks at human devices, how she adds semblances of technology to Oversouls she makes.

‘’And long, long ago, one of our ancestors fell in love with a fey of forest, who had hair as green and long as leaves of willow, and eyes as sweet and pretty as flowers. He was a hunter, but always paid due and respect to forest, and she showed him where best prey was hidden, and kept him safe from boars and bears and other dangerous beasts. And in time, a fae woman bore him children, with eyes and hair as green as hers, children who were first Diethel shamans, and that is why each Diethel looks like that, and why spirits of plants and pixies are friendly to us.’’ He doubts that story is true, for how would man touch bodiless spirits, and how would creature of wood and sap bear child of flesh and blood, but it is lovely, and makes Lyserg feel better.

* * *

 

Jane was orphan, and clockmaker’s daughter, and pilot.

She was abandoned at steps of orphanage (same one he would be left at years later, and he hopes she had more luck then he and Wat). Too young to remember her family, too young to know what a shaman is, to know she shouldn’t tell people about ghosts she sees, too young to remember if her family had sight too, too remember what sort of practice and tradition they led.

A creature declawed and defanged, that is what shaman orphans are. Shamans are lynchpins between living and dead, between material and spirit world, between past and future. They draw power from their ancestors, from dead, from their love and legacy and history.  Behind each shaman stand generations, of blood and love and language, power derived from their bones and words and land. A shaman without that knowledge is helpless.

Her father, Lyserg’s grandfather was a poor watchmaker, born in human family, thrown out when they couldn’t stand secrets dead told him anymore, truths he saw that were hidden from all but ghosts and him.  He saw the child, saw the girl who was alone and helpless, and saw himself in her and worked hard to gather  what any child might need, to live, to be happy, to be full of love, to start her own legacy, to fly in the sky in her own plane.

After his grandfather teaches him Japanese and is buried, Lyserg builds a case for his pendulum to honor him, and he creates Homing Pendulum O. S. to honor his mother, who flew through skies with pride and love.

* * *

 

At first, he gets irritated with his father’s test.

He doesn’t understand it.

The he decides to make his father proud.

Then he gets angry with himself, with cage, with his family.

Then he decides that he won’t stop, that he will work and learn to obtain power, like every Diethel before him.

Then he doubts himself. Doesn’t believe he could ever succeed, thinks that he is shame upon his whole family.

Then he hates it, hates the stupid test, hates the pendulum, that he is a shaman.

And then, he decides that he will free Morphine, that he will make sure she can fly again- and he succeeds.

* * *

 

He comes hope, with cage in hand and Morphine flying around, ready to see his family’s proud faces, ready to hear their laughter- and he finds inferno.

Nothing will come close to it, not great fights and bloodshed he will encounter in Shaman fight, not things he will see working as detective, not even training he shall receive in Hell. Nothing will come close to seeing his home home burnt down to foundations, reduced to nothing but ashes and slag, flames seemingly laughing as they consume all, as only thing left of his parents are charred corpses with melted bones, charred husks, black skin falling off to reveal fried organs.

(Here is a secret, how to break shaman-destroy their home, and watch them crumble. Without their ancestors and family, without legacy and history and land, they are nothing.)

He tries to fight, to avenge his family, but he is helpless, little Lyserg, helpless against flame and power and boy with eyes centuries older then they should be. It gnaws at him from inside, the weakness, the failure, eats him up as he watches caskets be lowered in ground, more dust then bodies, as he explains what happened to his grandfather, as he is left at orphanage. He cannot find anything about boy, cannot learn anything about him except that he is so so strong ( _he feels like demon, like nightmare, like god, like something older then any spirit she met, like deep and dark forest in which legends are born and monsters roar waiting for heroes to come,_ Morphine thinks). He almost loses hope that he will ever meet him again, ever get justice.

The cursed orphanage burns down, same fire that destroyed his life saving him, and he finds his first clue.

* * *

 

When Lyserg heard which Elemental Spirit was assigned to him he almost fainted.

It made no sense to him. Fire? Fire, of all thing? Fire that destroyed his home, that destroyed his family. To gain control of Spirit that served Hao, that killed and devoured his parents, teammates, so many  others? It couldn’t be right. It had to be mistake. He should have gotten Rain or Earth, something that brought life and helped things to grow, that men prayed for, that made flowers healthy and beautiful. What would X-Laws say? What would his friends say?

And then he realized-fire didn’t have to be evil, or destructive. No power in world was, it just depended on what you did with it.  Fire gave world light and warmth, allowed life to prosper and grow on.  It was fire that allowed mankind to rise above animals, fire in hearth  was what families gathered around. The Spirit wasn’t evil, it was just a weapon, just a power that could do both great harm and incredible good, all depending how it was used.

Besides, it would feel incredible to give Hao taste of his own medicine.

* * *

 

He can’t save the world, can’t fix it, can’t heal it, for he doesn’t  have enough money and enough influence, but every small act of kindness and bravery counts. He may not be able to fix world, but he can make it brighter, for at least moment, for at least one person. If one child is safe because of him, if one family is saved because of him, if one person is smiling because of him then it is enough.

It isn’t always so easy. There are ups and downs, and doubt always creeps in. There are days, when he fails, or when he comes across gruesome murder, or crime even more atrocious and inhuman,  or his coworkers, or boys he likes ( or worse, people he saved) view him with suspicion for his pendulum, for talking to air, call him madman and and crazy idiot and witch and demon worshipper. When he just wants to curl up and scream and cry, to rage at himself, at world, at his powers, when he wants to tell everybody what eh thinks, to become human, to burn down monsters that escape because of their money, their connections, their positions, to show them light and justice...

But he doesn’t. He always gets hold of himself, remembers who he is and where he came from, remembers what he promised, what he swore to accomplish, to fulfill Yoh’s dream, Jeanne’s mission, his family’s hopes. To leave a world better place then he found it, if only for moment, to mend worlds of mundane and mystical, material and magical, maybe one day be responsible for world where there is peace and crime and war are dark tales of old, and shamans don’t have to hide what they are and don’t have to pretend that their sight and power and legacy can be separated from any aspect of them, and tree spirits once again love humans who respect and adore them.

He remembers that family and legacy, history and home and land are never gone, that they live on in people.

* * *

 

* * *

 

Asakura spirits were strange bunch.

They were kind to Yoh, mostly ( Ponchi and Conchi were thankfully deviation from norm), and they listened to him, but he could feel there was never true bond between them  ( for children are good at noticing such things, and shamans are born with way to see in people’s hearts, and there are few lies that can be hidden from shaman child). Those spirits answered to him, without care or complaint because he was heir to Asakuras, and that was all. They were bound to serve by blood and bargain, agreements made and kept for sake of love and fear of people gone for centuries. he was young master, like dozens before, like dozens that will come after him. That was all.

(There were other Asakura spirits, of course. Rogue, lost ones, ones people didn’t talk about outside of legends. A spirits of great might and power, monsters that came from hell and from gods, bound and broken by fear and terror of one man and his strange power, and when eh fell they broke free, and run away, to wild woods and plains, waiting for heroes to come, to become monsters of legends and nightmares, ready to be  defeated and sealed and destroy by brave and strong and wise and great, but never bound, never serving, and stories will never say those heroes were shamans.)

Matamune is different. But then he is gone. For some time Yoh believes he will never find true guardian ghost.

And then, he finds Amidamaru.

* * *

 

He used to hate humans.

Stupid, awful, cruel humans who laughed at him, called him demon child, threw rocks and alienated him in class, who ruined the world and ate up nature like cancer, who understood nothing and destroyed everything. They were blind and deaf so they sough to break him, laughed at him, his music, his family (and they paid attention, and feared, for history has a way of repeating itself,  and they knew legend that weighted on every Asakura since they first drew breath, legend of shaman who dared to hunt humans, of which Yoh was aspect in sense).

He wanted them gone, destroyed, wiped out. In dark days when he came home full of hate and sorrow, after hours and hours of bullying and laughter of other children, that was all he could think about, how beautiful world would be without humanity. And then...

He met Manta.

* * *

 

His father is never home. His father travels the world, dragging Tamao with himself. There is no resentment in Yoh, but no love either. His father is distant, untied figure, a fading scent and blurry memory. As child he missed him, ached for his return and music, but now chance ahs passed and Yoh doesn’t want him anymore.

His mother was always a pale, silent presence, a walking shadow, as discernible as trace left in water, subtle ripples and movements disappearing almost immediately. Yet it is her blood that binds him, her legacy that shapes him, her history that molds him, her ancestors giving him power, from her come history and home and name that determine his fate.

His grandparents can be kind, and strict, but sometimes he would wonder if they ever feared what he could become, if they started thinking of him as a weapon.

* * *

 

He hated training. He hated the hard work, and senseless exercises, complicated shamanistic processes that had nothing to do with befriending spirits, just for sake of their legacy and fulfilling dream of old people, to participate in some stupid Tournament and spend needless effort when he had no wish, and besides it would honestly be bad for humans if he became Shaman King.

Then he met Anna. And well,  then he had several _very good_ reasons to compete.

* * *

 

Nobody who could see spirits could be wholly evil.

He believed in that even after he met Hao.

* * *

 

Yoh felt Spirit of Earth suited him perfectly.

Earth was simple thing, often overlooked, subtle and mundane. Yet it was incredibly powerful, in slow, patient way. It’s movements shook the countries, determined placement of cities and habitats. Stone didn’t  have to move to be strong, formidable. Earth was what all life stood on, where it came from.

Earth was where material to build homes and shelters came from, stones and clay and wood. Earth is from where metals were dug out, from which came swords, like Amidamaru’s legendary katana, but also instruments of peace, of healing, and ornaments.

And Anna always said that power over gravity was most appropriate for a man who could bring together such different people.

* * *

 

He never loses hope.

No matter what horrors he sees, no matter the failures that weight on him harshly, no matter that he dies, he doesn’t  lose hope. He mourns, and may even be moody sometimes, but that doesn’t stop him. There is good in world, and he would show it to all, even to his stubborn brother. Mankind was worthy of salvation, of  forgiveness,  and he never would falter in his hope, for sake of his friends,  his guardian ghosts, his brother, his son, Anna.

Nobody is without family and legacy, history and home, land. There are always people willing to welcome you.

* * *

 

_‘’No family.’’ Say the whispers, the mockery, the laughter, and it is true, thinks the boy whose mother has burned down to ash, whose demon was lost, who lives in woods and trash, who still hasn’t fathered children, and decides he can do without it, without family or ancestors or inheritance of blood and bone._

_‘’No legacy.’’ Say the whispers, the thoughts, the insults, and it is true for now, but so what, even better. Why ride on accomplishments of others, why not embrace that he is beggar, orphan bastard of peasant, that he will never be accepted as kin by other shamans, by teachers? Let it be so, for then he can build a legacy to give to others from nothing, can transform himself in legend._

_‘’No history.’’ Say the whispers, the cruel remarks, the dead, and it is true, for he comes from long chain of nobodies, of forgotten peasants and thieves and whores, of beggars and urchins, but let it be so, for history is living thing, always growing and being shaped, and he will be known by nobody else’s deeds but his own, and those will burn brightly._

_‘’No home.’’ Say the whispers, the jokes, the accusations, and it is true, for cottage he might have called home is lost to flame, and now he  has nobody, he wanders lone paths and streets as he will one day wander Hell, and let it be so, for he shall not be bound if nobody welcomes him, he will draw his strength from mountains and seas, storms and skies and molten heart of Earth itself._

_‘’No land.’’ Say the whispers, the hearts, the humans, and that is all right, for land cannot be divided and claimed, and so boy sets out to make whole world become one with him._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Sorry it's so short.


End file.
